Risk Assessment
by Chiimeriical
Summary: Logic dictated she keep her mouth shut. Her traitorous heart wanted otherwise.


**Author's Note:** There are a few things I'd like to say before I wish you enjoyment - hopefully they're brief enough, and won't deter you. But we, as readers, are intrinsically intrepid, are we not?

_One:_ It should be evident by now that I'm an American masquerading as an English authoress. Previously, I merely set my language to English (UK) in order to get the correct spelling... but really, that's hardly a fair substitute. I do hope I haven't offended anyone with my innocent gesture. I've given up the ghost, so to speak. American idioms will abound.

_Two:_ I've no beta reader, and as such, none of my fics are polished besides an (hopefully) keen eye turned towards catching some spelling/grammar issues. Thank you, Strunk and White. I do hope I've done you proud.

_Three:_ I ought to get a beta reader... but to find one, don't you have to be a big player within the pairing-fandom? I'm certainly not that. I suppose I'll keep searching.

_Four:_ This kind of fic has likely been done before. If this is too similar in concept to another's work, do tell me. I'll not populate the web with more of the same.

**Disclaimer:** Ah, if only it were mine. Alas, Chiimeriical is not Rowling, and I am not Hermione in the wonderful fanverse of HGSS.

* * *

Hermione had not lost her Gryffindor courage; she had simply gained a greater understanding of the concept of consequences. This was her justification, her mantra when she woke up each morning, and her explanation for why today would not be the day she told Severus Snape she loved him – she had been repeating it to herself for the last two years.

Each day, she had woken up with her sentimental declaration on the tip of her tongue, and each day she would swallow it down within minutes of waking, musing yet again that disappointment did indeed have a flavor, and it tasted just like the bitter pill that was her pride.

Her love – this fresh wound that healed each time the sun rose – made everything inconsequential. She didn't care that their age gap was so wide a chasm that even the eagle-eyed Minerva McGonagall would have trouble seeing past it. She didn't care that her parents would disapprove. She just wanted – no, _needed_ – to confess to him, before the weakening organ that she guessed was her heart, or perhaps her soul, simply gave out.

But she could not do it.

She had too much to lose (his mild acceptance), and too slim a chance to actually gain anything (his affection).

Plus, there was that whole matter of Snape's devotion to a very-much-dead Lily Potter.

Stronger women, she supposed, would be able to stand up to the specter of a martyred, fallen love, but not she, with her slowly-healing, teenage insecurities and her natural aversion to rejection.

To preserve her fragile heart from breaking, she had to keep silent. Keeping silent broke her heart anyway, but she'd rather a self-instigated destruction any day.

* * *

A few months passed, and things changed.

This morning was different from all the others. It was the morning of graduation day, and when the day was done, she would never see Snape again.

She woke feeling both light and heavy. The lightness came from self-awareness; the heaviness came from what she knew to be inevitable. As she shifted blearily into a sitting position on her bed, she once again waited for her emotions to well up – and they did, right on schedule. Instead of her almost ingrained reflex to stifle it and choke it down, however, she instead left it unchecked.

She did not have a mirror, so she could not see the effect this decision had on her face. Had she looked, she would have seen new color to her cheeks, a lovely sparkle to her eyes, and a tense determination that lent her face an expression of steely resolve.

Instead of seeing this, she looked out a window, and onto the grounds. The grass, unlike her face, showed nothing of novelty.

She would tell Snape today. She would get her closure, and she would never see him again. _And good riddance._

She chalked the twinge in her chest up to heartburn and got up to get dressed.

* * *

It took a very short time for life, as she knew it, to end. She was done with Hogwarts, she had passed her exams – it was time to move out and move on. The thick scroll in her hand told her that, its grainy skin a promise of an exciting, magical future.

She was still wearing graduation robes when she wandered down to the dungeons, her shoes tapping a staccato beat on the unforgiving, stone floor. Snape's large wooden door loomed ominously in front of her, but if she bowed out now, she would never take this same chance again.

It was pure grit that made her knock, and instead of that emotion liquefying after initial contact, it stayed, and it bolstered her.

A distant-sounding voice called her in, and she shouldered her way through, the door still as unyielding as ever. The man she was looking for was rummaging around somewhere; she could hear the clink of jars and the shuffling of papers, but she could not see him.

"Granger. What brings you here, when everyone else is elsewhere?" he asked her blandly, his voice still muffled by his location.

Momentarily, her confusion won out over her objective. "How do you know it's me, when you're not looking at me?"

A dry chuckle was her initial answer, and it increased in volume and clarity as Snape moved from his storage room to the classroom. "That's a rather dull question, coming from you. Can you really not put it together?"

She huffed indignantly, before replying, "Either you assumed I'd be the only one actually willing to seek out her teachers today, or you have some kind of scrying glass tucked away. I honestly suspect it's a combination of both."

He smirked at her, and she took it for confirmation. His mouth soon thinned, and his brows furrowed in thought. "I've asked you a question, and I've not received an answer. Why are you here?"

Hermione sighed, now finally letting go of the hope that Snape's taunting nature would keep her locked in a bout of verbal sparring and thereby preclude her from confessing.

"I'm here because I have something I wish to say," she began, only pausing momentarily before barreling on, "I just wanted you to know that I'm in… I've, er, had a crush on you for the last two years."

Now, she had told him, but she was so very disappointed in herself. She hadn't been able to use the word "love", and as such, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Crushes were juvenile. Crushes were something Severus Snape would sneer at. Love, even coming from her, was perhaps worth cursory examination. But no, she had stopped herself, yet again. _This is not a loss of bravery. This is risk assessment. You know this._

Snape, for his part, looked slightly nonplussed, and was not doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Odd, that, considering he had been a spy. Hermione discarded that thought, reminding herself that the Dark Lord was gone, and that Snape deserved the freedom to have honest expressions.

Each second that passed by made Hermione's chest lighter. She felt almost free. In fact, she was gearing up to leave, but Snape found his voice before she could escape.

"How very interesting," he stated coldly, his expression telling her that he was not at all amused.

"I suppose it is," she replied airily, belying the depth of her emotions. "I just thought you ought to know."

"And why is that? I may have not been the typical teenager, but even _I _learned that part of the allure of having a crush was the protection that came with not having to tell your intended how you feel. Admiring from afar, as it were," he said.

Hermione was unsure of how to proceed. She had certainly never thought that Snape would continue the conversation past her confession; she had assumed he would kick her out with an empty threat, or some other form of posturing. As such, she had not planned out anything else to say. _Not that it would help, what with you replacing "love" with "crush" at the last possible minute. _

Stripped of any kind of plan, she settled for the truth: "I _had_ to tell you."

"But _why_?" Snape asked. His voice was tinged with exasperation.

"Because not telling you started to hurt."

At this, he sneered. "Feeling a little heartache, were you?"

With this return to normal, Hermione's strength and stamina faded. Her expression closed, and she turned her head away, missing the flash of sadness and self-chastisement on Snape's face at her distancing actions.

"I would have thought that would be obvious," she muttered blankly.

Inwardly, Snape floundered, trying to once again gain her attention. While he wouldn't say he had a "crush" on her, he felt a certain obligation to be a tad kinder to her for going through with telling him – and, after all, it wasn't every day a young woman told him of her attraction to him. Surely he didn't wish to completely alienate her?

"Yes… that was rather tactless of me," he replied slowly, unwilling to fully apologize. _That_ was something he reserved for a special few.

Hermione knew that was all she would get out of him, and she pasted a rather fake smile on her face as she turned to look at him. Snape's heart sank when he saw it, knowing instantly that she would walk out and never come back.

"Well, that's all I came to say," she stated, rubbing a hand over her shoulder and halfway down her arm in a vague manner, as if to comfort herself. "I'm young, and I'm sure I'll get over it, given enough time," she added, her fake smile changing minutely to a real one. "I really am glad I told you, though. Thank you for letting me take up so much of your time. I hope I haven't disturbed anything too important."

He was tempted to stare at her stupidly for a second, as if to say, "_Disturbed? No, of course not… you've just partially turned my world upside down, but really, it's been no trouble._" But instead, he merely inhaled deeply before letting the breath out through his nose, his eyes shutting momentarily and then opening, his face a mask of perfect, if exaggerated suffering.

"Nothing I cannot salvage, Miss Granger. Is there anything else…" he stated before tapering off, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

"No, I do think I've done enough damage for one day," she replied, chuckling self-deprecatingly. "Have a… well, I suppose it's 'have a nice life,' isn't it?"

"Something like that, yes. To you as well."

She raised a hand from her side as if to shake his, but seemed to decide against it, and it curled into a small fist back by her leg. Her teeth came out to bite her lip once, and then her mouth smoothed into a normal, stoic line. She turned away, and walked unhurriedly out the door.

She had assessed the risk, and found it worth taking.

If only her heart could see it as clearly as her mind.

* * *

Months passed, some fast, and some mind-numbingly slow.

Each day, she woke up, and her first thought was that telling him didn't change anything. Her love bled and healed each day. She still didn't mind if her parents would have disapproved.

But things did change.

Eventually.

It turns out Snape didn't want her to get over it.

He thought it was risky business, admitting that to her – he told her that in no uncertain terms, later on in their relationship.

Love, he knew, was dicey.

But now, he also knew that the reward, in this case, was well worth the risk.


End file.
